A chance reference to Whitman in an essay on Wilde’s short-lived tenure as a classics scholar in the NYRB led me to Whitman’s recollection of their meeting.
Loved this until I got to the part where Stoddard relates their discussion of “how insipid is the love of women.” My feelings were hurt. Also, disappointed in these two heroes of mine? A deliberate reverence for love, even when it takes a subject I wouldn’t have chosen, is fundamental to my concept of being good and right. Perhaps I shouldn’t trust the source completely, Stoddard being a third party.
